Grand Rapids Metal
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Thursday, September 24, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The Best Reason Yet to Keep Up With Your Blog.
To the editor that was trying to find me via this blog, I would like to say that I am sorry that it took me so long to realize that you were trying to get in touch with me and I hope that it doesn't keep us from working together.
Ever So Humbly Yours,
Ben Snider
Ever So Humbly Yours,
Ben Snider
Monday, August 31, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
Why I Won't Text and Drive
I am not afraid of the crap they say might happen if I text my BFF while driving. Even though there are grisly images floating around the world wide web. I'm not worried that Officer's Neil and Bob might catch me and give me a hefty fine. My wallet would survive alright. I'm not worried that I might accidentally send a salacious come on to my boss. (He'd just chuckle anyway). The truth of the matter is this. I don't want to be the Douchie VanBagster that gets in the way!
Sunday, April 8, 2007
The Great Egg Hunt
We hurry to find the best of the eggs,
before our opportunity passes us by.
We wallow in the filth, face in the mud.
We scratch our way past each other,
for our chance at the reward.
When all is said, when all is done,
the final tallies are spoken.
As always, all of my eggs are broken.
before our opportunity passes us by.
We wallow in the filth, face in the mud.
We scratch our way past each other,
for our chance at the reward.
When all is said, when all is done,
the final tallies are spoken.
As always, all of my eggs are broken.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Drivers Diaries
Hope Road
Driving on a Saturday noon learning Spanish from a couple of Scots, I pass a white pony wearing a blue jacket. And sun dances on the Flat River in a late winter thaw while poplar trees cast their grand shadows across the road. There is a pontoon boat anchored on the shore of a watering hole in a field where cows graze.
Here the trees are nomads that stayed in one place too long. The roots grew up through their feet and anchored them, immobile for eternity. As the wind blows, they moan. Longing to be free. Birds nest in their outstretched arms and whisper stories of their travels in the nomad’s ear.
The sun sets on another winter and electric blue clouds look down on the pony in the blue coat, the cows grazing, and the beached pontoon.
The dusk pushes me on through these mid-Michigan towns. Past the husks of rotted old cars that litter the landscape, where there are more abandon homes than chances to live the American dream. All this along the road called Hope.
Driving on a Saturday noon learning Spanish from a couple of Scots, I pass a white pony wearing a blue jacket. And sun dances on the Flat River in a late winter thaw while poplar trees cast their grand shadows across the road. There is a pontoon boat anchored on the shore of a watering hole in a field where cows graze.
Here the trees are nomads that stayed in one place too long. The roots grew up through their feet and anchored them, immobile for eternity. As the wind blows, they moan. Longing to be free. Birds nest in their outstretched arms and whisper stories of their travels in the nomad’s ear.
The sun sets on another winter and electric blue clouds look down on the pony in the blue coat, the cows grazing, and the beached pontoon.
The dusk pushes me on through these mid-Michigan towns. Past the husks of rotted old cars that litter the landscape, where there are more abandon homes than chances to live the American dream. All this along the road called Hope.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Drivers Diaries
Social Interaction
I walk out of a place and do the awkward excuse-me-two-step with a woman walking in
I look her in the eyes, smile kindly, and say excuse me. She looks past me, making no effort to be polite.
It is like this too often. And I know why so many people hate. I am angry too. Not understanding why I shouldn’t be worthy of manners.
Seconds before my little enlightenment, I had thought she was beautiful. Elegant.
Now her mask was pulled away, her ugly nature shown to me. And I wonder; how many of her friends never see this reality that she is?
I walk out of a place and do the awkward excuse-me-two-step with a woman walking in
I look her in the eyes, smile kindly, and say excuse me. She looks past me, making no effort to be polite.
It is like this too often. And I know why so many people hate. I am angry too. Not understanding why I shouldn’t be worthy of manners.
Seconds before my little enlightenment, I had thought she was beautiful. Elegant.
Now her mask was pulled away, her ugly nature shown to me. And I wonder; how many of her friends never see this reality that she is?
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